


What Is and What Should Never Be Missing Scene

by leonidaslion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How much blood did Dean lose to the djinn, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is and What Should Never Be Missing Scene

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mtee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mtee), [andycake](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=andycake).



Dean made it down to the Impala with the girl in his arms before passing out. He must have sensed it coming because instead of waiting for Sam to get the door open, he turned and shoved her into his brother’s arms. In his surprise, Sam lost his grip on the keys. The metallic clatter as they hit the pavement was muffled, drowned out by Sam’s own shout of alarm as he watched Dean’s eyes roll back in his head.

Dean was folding up on himself, he was crumpling, he was falling. It was a graceless movement, his limbs awkward and loose and the side of his head clipping the Impala’s roof as he went down. Then he was on the ground, and Sam couldn’t tell if he was still breathing or not.

He was never sure afterwards how he managed the transition—he was almost positive that he didn’t just drop the girl, that he wasn’t that panicked—but somehow his arms were empty and he was kneeling next to his brother. His fingers were pressed against Dean’s throat, and he could feel the scab from the djinn’s needle underneath the pad of his index finger.

Dean’s pulse was steady, thank God, but he was way too pale, and the question that had been in Sam’s mind when he first found his brother strung up in the warehouse like a slaughtered pig returned. How many bags of blood had the djinn taken? Two? Three? Four? There was really no way for him to tell.

And that knock on the head when Dean went down hadn’t been gentle either. Sam felt around on the side of his brother’s skull, fingers ghosting over a slight swelling but coming away dry and clean. Not that that meant anything: Dean could be bleeding inside his brain, his skull could be cracked, he could …

Dean’s eyelids fluttered open and he gasped in a breath. “Sam?” he moaned. His eyes darted fuzzily to one side and then back. Dean’s forehead creased as he tried to focus. “What’m I doing down here?”

“You fainted,” Sam said shortly, and held up two fingers in front of his brother’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he asked.

Dean scowled and pushed at Sam’s hand, kitten weak. “Dude, I don’t faint.”

“Blacked out then,” Sam corrected, and only Dean would be stubborn enough to complain about word choice at a time like this. “How many fingers, Dean?” he repeated.

“Two. Jesus.” Dean started to sit up and then winced, one hand going to his head. “What the hell?”

“You knocked your head on the car when you fell. Are you nauseas? Is it a sharp pain or—”

“Where is she?” Dean interrupted, his eyes suddenly widening. He struggled to sit up again, despite his weakness and the pain that was obviously shooting through his head. Idiot.

“She’s right here,” Sam said, although he wasn’t really sure—didn’t remember putting the girl down. Glancing around, he found her lying on the pavement behind him. She was still unconscious, but her chest was rising and falling evenly. “She’s fine, okay?”

But Dean was still trying to get up, his face frantic as though he didn’t really understand what Sam was telling him. After a moment of pressing Dean down against the ground, Sam gave in and slid one arm underneath his brother, pulling him up enough for Dean to see for himself that the girl was with them and still alive.

Dean relaxed then, and his head lolled to one side, resting against Sam’s shoulder. “Got to get her to a hospital,” he mumbled.

“Hospital, right.” Get them _both_ there: have an actual doctor look at Dean and make sure he wasn’t dying. Sam started to haul Dean up and Dean thumped one hand against Sam’s chest.

“Sammy,” Dean groaned. “Sammy, wait.”

“ _What_ , Dean?”

“Her first.” Dean’s voice was faltering, so soft that Sam had to duck his head to hear. “Her first, Sammy, okay?”

Jesus Christ. If Dean hadn’t been so fucked up already, Sam would have kicked his brother’s ass. “Idiot,” he growled, and ignored Dean’s protests as he hauled his brother up and leaned him against the Impala. Tried to open the door and swore when he realized that it was still locked.

“Stay there,” Sam ordered, and then swore again as he turned away to find the keys and Dean promptly slid back down to the ground.

In the end, it took him almost five minutes to wrestle both Dean and the girl into the car. Mostly because Sam’s hands were shaking too much for him to unlock the door. Finally, he took a moment to rest his forehead against the Impala’s roof and took a few deep breaths to steady himself. After that, things went a lot smoother.

Dean was leaning against the side of the door as they sped out of the parking lot, his head twisted around so that he could keep an eye on the girl in the back seat. The Impala hit a pothole and Sam’s arm shot out to keep his brother from sliding down onto the floor. One of Dean’s hands went automatically to his injured head while the other swatted at Sam’s grip on his shirt.

“Let go, dude.”

Sam gave a disbelieving snort. “God, you are a stubborn asshole.”

“And you’re a grabby bitch. Now let go.”

Sam did, mostly because he needed both hands on the wheel to make the turn coming up.

“How far?” Dean asked after a moment. His voice was a little stronger, but that didn’t do much to allay Sam’s fears.

“About five minutes, I think. I drove past one while I was looking for your sorry ass.” And had made a mental note to remember where it was because he’d been worried even then that Dean was going to need it.

Sam glanced over again and saw that Dean’s eyes had slid shut. In the streetlights, the grey smudges underneath his brother’s eyes looked almost black. His skin was the color of chalk.

“You’re gonna be fine, man,” he said, pressing his foot down more firmly on the accelerator. “Get a few pints of blood in you and you’ll be as good as new.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open again at that. “No,” he said hoarsely.

“Of course you will,” Sam insisted, because there was no other option. Dean was going to be okay: he had to be.

“No hospital,” Dean clarified. “We’ll drop the girl off and then head back to the motel. Few days of rest and I’ll be fine.”

“Like hell. You lost God knows how much blood in there, and your head—”

“No hospital,” Dean repeated, more firmly. “Cops’ll find us for sure. Rather die that have that smug bastard gloat over me again.”

Oh fuck, Sam had completely forgotten about Hendrickson. Damn it!

Sam must have made some kind of noise, or else Dean read something in his face because he said, “I’ll be fine, really. I’m just a little tired. Okay? Sam? _Sam_.”

“Fine,” Sam ground out finally, because there really wasn’t anything else he could say. Dean was right about the police—about Hendrickson. And even if he didn’t agree that death was preferable to capture, Sam wasn’t going to put Dean in that situation unless it was absolutely necessary.

“But if you’re not better by tomorrow morning, I’m taking you in whether you like it or not,” he added. “I’m not losing you.”

For some reason, Dean’s face tightened guiltily at that, and instead of snapping back a cynical reply, he only shrugged. His eyes on Sam were shadowed.

As Sam pulled into the hospital driveway, he found himself remembering what Dean had said when Sam found him in the warehouse. Found himself wondering whether there was something else wrong with his brother—something potentially more dangerous than the blood loss and the probable concussion combined.

 _What the hell happened to you in there?_ he thought, and then he was pulling to a stop outside the emergency room doors. Dean slid lower, out of sight, and Sam climbed out of the front seat to get the girl. Whatever was wrong with Dean was going to have to wait until they got back to the motel.

Sam squared his jaw as he pulled the girl out of the car. He hadn’t been lying to his brother. Dean was the only thing Sam had left—was maybe the only real thing he’d ever had—and he wasn’t losing him. Not to Hendrickson, not to blood loss, and sure as hell not to whatever else that damned djinn had done to him.

Shouting for a doctor, Sam stepped through the sliding doors into the ER’s waiting room. Dean was his, stubborn son of a bitch that he was, and Sam was keeping him. Sam was keeping him whether Dean liked it or not.


End file.
